


unhappy in love

by Cinaed



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst With A Neutral Ending, Anxiety Attacks, M/M, Relationship Problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 16:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14048052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: Simmons works up the nerve to ask Grif to marry him. Taken by surprise Grif says "No."





	unhappy in love

**Author's Note:**

> For the RvB Angst War. 
> 
> Thanks goes out to CC for the prompt!
> 
> Warnings for anxiety attacks, references to past self-harm and awful parents in general.

* * *

 

 

"It is better to be unhappy in love than unhappy in marriage, but some people manage to be both." -Guy de Maupassant

 

* * *

 

Simmons didn’t do spontaneity. The most spur-of-the-moment decision he’d ever made was to enlist in the military, and he’d spent most of his life since regretting it. So asking Grif to marry him wasn’t a spontaneous decision. If he were being honest with himself, it felt like he’d made that choice a while ago. He already filed their taxes jointly, they’d lived together for almost a decade, and Tucker had been calling them an old married couple for years.

You only had one chance at a proposal, though, and Simmons wanted it to be perfect. His proposal had started as a five-point plan, which eventually expanded to a twenty-point plan to handle any potential hiccup. He’d covered all conceivable bases.

Well, except for one.

“No,” Grif said.

Simmons blinked. He’d misheard, or maybe the Oreo company had screwed up. He surreptitiously read the note upside down, but it said what he’d requested.

 _Will you marry me_?

He waited, but Grif didn’t say anything else. The only sound in the bedroom was the faint crinkling of paper as Grif clenched his fist around the note. Simmons felt cold and suddenly sick. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a wobbly, “Uh….”

He watched in disbelief as Grif stalked towards the door, pausing only to mutter, “Get married? What were you thinking?”

Simmons took a quick breath, then another, but it felt like something was wrapped tightly around his chest. “What was I _thinking_?” he repeated. “I was thinking that I want to marry you, dumbass.” His hand felt numb, and his heart beat unsteadily in his ears, but his vision was still clear. He saw Grif flinch.

Grif shook his head and walked out.

Simmons tried to follow, but his legs wouldn’t obey him. He sank down on the bed. His breathing was too shallow and his throat too tight to even call after Grif. He closed his eyes and took a calming breath, the one Doc had taught him in a rare moment of being helpful.

Once he’d gotten himself under control, he sat there, puzzling over what the fuck had just happened. They’d never talked about marriage, but it was the obvious next step. Unless Simmons had misunderstood how Grif felt….

All his old anxieties clawed at him. The confidence he’d fought so hard to gain faltered in the face of Grif’s denial and hasty escape. He took a few more calming breaths, but it was a struggle. He clenched his hands until it hurt. The pain wasn’t a good enough distraction. He stood. If he stayed here, he’d drown in what-ifs or do something stupid. He hadn’t smashed a mirror in years.

He had to find Grif.

 

* * *

 

He passed Donut’s quarters on the way to the kitchen. He heard the other man singing, the cheerful words muffled through the closed door. He knew that Sarge was on perimeter duty, watching for any unlikely incursions. Lopez was off recharging or whatever robots did. Or Sarge had taken Lopez on perimeter duty, which Simmons wasn't going to feel envious about right now. 

When he got to the kitchen, he found it empty. Either Grif had been there and gone or he’d known that this would be the first place Simmons would look. Simmons paused, frowning. Had he missed the obvious? But when he checked Grif’s bedroom, the lump on his bed was just a pile of dirty clothes.

In the end, Grif was outside. Discarded half-finished cigarettes ringed his feet. Simmons realized why as Grif began to pace in a slow, tight circle, waving a cigarette around. The smoke wreathed his head, but Simmons could see his scowl.

“Stupid,” Grif said. Simmons, about to scold him for smoking, felt his throat close up at the loathing in Grif’s voice. “Of fucking course he wants rings, a white-picket fence, kids, all that shit. You _knew_ that. You _knew_ this wouldn’t--” He spotted Simmons and froze.

Simmons replayed Grif’s words in his head. Suspecting that the loathing was self-directed didn’t make him feel better. He licked his lips. Tentatively, he said, “Um. Do you, uh, want to talk about it?” The question came out stilted and awkward, and he winced as Grif grimaced.  

Grif looked away. “Not really.”

“Well,” Simmons said. He hesitated. A dozen questions strangled him, each one more pathetic than the last. “I think we have to.”

Grif sighed. The anger and surprise had faded from his expression. Illuminated by the glow of Simmons’ cyborg eye, he just looked tired. “Simmons, I-- _ow_! Fuck!” He dropped his cigarette.

“Jesus, Grif. Burning yourself to change the subject? You could've just said.” Simmons aimed for joking, and probably missed it by a mile. Grif didn’t answer. He reached out for Grif’s hand. Grif tensed, but didn’t pull away. Simmons tried not to think about how relaxed Grif had been earlier, leaning back against Simmons’ pillows and grinning as Simmons grumbled about crumbs in the bed. He’d really managed to fuck things up.

This close, the harsh smell of cigarettes was almost overwhelming. Simmons breathed through his mouth. “It looks superficial,” he said. “But we should run your hand under water just to be safe.”

“It’s fine,” Grif said. Now he did pull his hand away, but only to light another cigarette. At this rate he’d be through the whole pack soon. Simmons stifled a horrified shudder at the condition of his lungs. He wondered if Donut still had some anti-smoking pamphlets as Grif leaned against the wall.

Grif’s free hand redirected the smoke so that he wasn’t blowing it directly into Simmons’ face, but Simmons’ eyes still watered. He tried to focus. His chest felt tight again, and not just from the smoke. “So you don’t want to get married.” He closed his mouth on ‘ _to me’_ before it could escape, but Grif probably heard it anyway. He swallowed, sick with nerves.  

Grif didn’t meet his eyes. He took another drag of his cigarette. “Come on, Simmons. Name one marriage that didn’t make everyone involved fucking miserable.” He paused, as though waiting for an answer, and then smiled grimly when Simmons said nothing. “My parents hated each other. The only things they agreed on was how much they loved Kai and that whoever called the marriage quits first was the loser. You want that?”

Simmons frowned. “We’re not your parents. If we were married--”

Grif snorted. “Oh yeah. How do you think it would go?”

Simmons flushed. If he was being honest, he’d pretty much imagined everything staying the same, just with a wedding and some rings. Somehow he didn’t think that Grif would believe him. He opened his mouth, still hunting for an answer, when wind blew smoke into his face. He doubled over coughing. When he could breathe again, he straightened, annoyed. He snatched the cigarette out of Grif’s hand and threw it on the ground and said waspishly, “Well, I _hoped_ it would involve less secondhand smoke.”  

To his surprise, Grif smiled. It was faint and rueful, but it was still a smile. Some of Simmons’ anxiety eased. Things couldn’t be fucked beyond repair if Grif could still laugh at him. “Go on, give me the lecture.”

“Maybe later,” Simmons said, managing a weak smile in return. He took a deep breath. “Look, we don’t have to get married. I mean, I’d argue that we’re practically married already-- I do our fucking taxes together and common law marriage laws probably apply, even if we’ve moved all over the galaxy-- but it’s fine. I just--” His throat tightened again. This time he forced a question out. “You still want this though, right?” He waved his hand vaguely between them.  

Grif blinked. He straightened from his slouch. “Uh, _yeah_.” He said it like it was obvious.

Simmons stared. Relief battled with exasperation at Grif’s surprise. Eventually exasperation won out. He narrowed his eyes. “Well, _usually_ when someone turns down a proposal, that’s a clear indication that the relationship is doomed. I don’t think it’s that much of a stretch for me to worry that you--”

“Okay, okay,” Grif said, hands raised. “So, uh, we don’t want to break up.” He eyed Simmons. “So we’re okay?”

Simmons nodded. “Just...not getting married.” Even as he said it, he felt a pang of disappointment. Grif’s parents had hated each other, but Simmons’ hadn’t even had that. You had to care about each other to hate. They’d been polite strangers at best. Simmons had wanted more than a marriage of convenience. And now the one person he could see himself marrying didn’t even believe in marriage. Well, that had always been his luck, hadn’t it? And Grif still wanted to be with him. That was enough. It would have to be. After a second, he managed a smile. “I’m just surprised you’re willing to miss out on wedding gifts.”

Grif snorted. “Come on. You’ve met our friends. You really think any of them would give us a good gift?” He paused. “Well, Donut would either give us something incredible or something we’d have to burn.”

Simmons relaxed into the banter. “You’re probably right.” He nodded towards the base. “Come on, I want to look at that burn under better light.” The wind blew the stink of cigarettes into his face again. He coughed. “And you need a shower.”

“A shower? Really? I can just change my clothes.”

“A shower,” Simmons said firmly. “And use some mouthwash. You probably taste like an ashtray.”

Grif grinned and started to lean in. “I don’t know. I could only get some weird Chorus knock-off brand last supply run. It has a different taste, sort of fruity. You might like it….”

Simmons dodged Grif’s kiss, flinging up his arm to shield his face. “I’m finding Donut and asking for some anti-smoking pamphlets. And then I’m going to put _those_ in your Oreo wrappers,” he threatened.

Grif grimaced. “Please don’t.” He grabbed Simmons’ arm and tugged it down. When Simmons wrinkled his nose and turned his face away, Grif kissed the side of his jaw and breathed loudly against his skin like the asshole he was. “Hey,” he mumbled after a second, his face briefly pressed against Simmons’ neck. He was quiet. “You know if I’d marry anyone, it’d be you, right?”

Simmons closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, and mostly believed it.  


End file.
